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When I don’t speak, she frowns. “You aren’t even going to ask?” My non-reaction should be enough of a hint. “Fine,” she huffs. “I want you to throw this with me.”
Hell. No.
I slam the door closed in one fluid motion. Is she crazy? There’s no way I’m touching that thing. She couldn’t pay me a million dollars to hold it. Before I can take three steps away from the door, she’s opening it.
“This is proof you need to see a real therapist. You took one look at this football and froze. You can’t even throw it with me, much less speak when it’s in the room.”
To spite her, I do speak. “I don’t need to do either of those things ever again, so why would I?”
She grabs my arm and waits until I turn around to face her. “You loved the game, Corey. Your dad signed you up and he loved watching you. I bet he would toss it with you, wouldn’t he?” He did. Reluctantly, I nod. “Don’t you want to be able to do that one day with your own kids? Don’t you want to be able to toss the ball with them, go to their games, or talk about football with them? I know that’s a long way in the future, but you need a reason to want to do this, so I’m giving it to you. Think of the future children you may have.”
Future children? Is she serious? I’m about to tell her to get out, just so the damn ball can get away from me, but she speaks again.
“You lost the ability to play, but you did not lose your love for the game. You miss talking about it with your brothers. You can still do that.”
“If I won’t talk to you, what makes you think I’ll talk to a therapist?” I decide to go back to the first thing she said.
“It’s different. You’ll see, if you would make an appointment.”
“How do you know?”
She hesitates before answering. “I’ve seen a therapist before. Look, I’ve got some homework I need to do, so I’m going to do that.” She places the football on my end table next to the couch. “And I’m going to leave this right here.”
Then she leaves. Call me crazy, but when I sit down on my couch, it’s on the opposite side, far away from the ball. Where the hell did she even get it? I know she doesn’t have one sitting around in her apartment. My eyes keep leaving the TV to slide over to the ball. I used to lie in bed and toss it up in the air when I wanted to clear my head. My mind is too clouded with the damn football that I can barely focus on the fact that Olivia has seen a therapist before.
Two hours pass with the ball’s imaginary eyes following me all around my apartment. Finally, I walk over to the end table. My hand hovers over it. In a sudden movement, I pick it up. The weight is painstakingly familiar, the bumpy texture a comfort and an annoyance. After my injury, I threw my football in the trash. I vowed to never pick up another one. There was no need and definitely no want.
Olivia picks this moment to walk through my door. She stops short when she sees me. She closes the door quietly as if she doesn’t want to disturb me. A little too late for that. Still, the football stays in my hand. It’s like an old friend has returned, one you know will leave again or one that’s no good for you.
She stands behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my left arm, so she can peer around me. It’s a new ball, that much I can tell.
“When did you get it?”
“Bought it this past week.”
Interesting. “How long have you wanted to have that conversation with me?”
Her arms fall and we move to the couch, my grip still tight on the ball as she sits next to me.
“Since you made the appointment, but I knew I needed to wait,” she admits. I lay an arm around her shoulders, so she’ll lean into me.
“Holding it feels like home and hell,” I reply with a confession of my own. I’m torn between never letting go and throwing it across the room, hoping to never see it again. The memories come slowly, starting with the first games I remember playing and leading up to some of my best moments in college. With a light trace of reluctance, I give Olivia the ball back. “Here,” my voice strains to say that one word.
I can’t hold it anymore. The memories blur to the harsh reality of my injury and all the hopes I placed in a simple, stupid game. It ruined everything for me, stole all of my dreams, and left me in a hole so deep, I can’t get out.
“Do you want me to take it back to my apartment or leave it here?” Olivia’s tender voice brings me back to the present.
Damn it. Why is she giving me an option? “I don’t care, but it has to get away from me.” My chest feels too heavy and every breath is becoming a struggle. “Right now, Olivia,” I add, my voice rising a bit when she doesn’t move fast enough.
“Okay.” She stands and leaves me long enough to return the ball to her apartment. It’s easier to breathe after that. She comes back and sits next to me, placing her legs across mine as she leans her head on my shoulder. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I wonder what she’s doing today and if she’ll hang out with me. Maybe I should get out of the house for a bit. I don’t feel like it completely, but it sounds like something Olivia would suggest I do. Might as well try it, I guess. “Want to do something with me today?”
Olivia glances up at me. “Are you finally asking me out?”
“No,” I quickly answer.
“Why are you so against it?”
